


The Imitation Game

by BlackSwanna, KalapenoPeppers



Series: Repliku Lives AU [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Character Renaming, Depression, Dissociation, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repliku has vitiligo and it's the best thing bye, Repliku lives au, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Suicide thoughts, also slight heterochromania byE, i MEAN IT'S CONFIRMED BUT WE HAD THIS BEFORE IT WAS CONFIRMED SO, mainly repliku gets a name of he own and we lof him, surprise punk i lived - says repliku somewhere, vitiligo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSwanna/pseuds/BlackSwanna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalapenoPeppers/pseuds/KalapenoPeppers
Summary: The replica took a deep breath as turquoise eyes opened again to the world. His heart raced in his chest after the numbness faded. God...He was alive.





	The Imitation Game

**Author's Note:**

> I used to RP a repliku lives au!Repliku, so this is what came from it---i can't believe he's actually alive ofmg, so much for using a "repliku lives au" tag askjfhjdks
> 
> anyway, please keep the additional tags in mind, especially in this chapter. Remember, friends, suicide is never the answer and there are ways to get help! If you're sensitive to darker themes, probably don't read this fic! 
> 
> Anyway, read on, friends!

_Riku…_

_No… Riku’s Replica…_

_I tried by best, but I’m sorry. You were too badly damaged and your fake memories were falling apart. It would have destroyed your heart. I couldn’t let that happen again. I’m so sorry._

_I’ve created new memory cores in your heart, something to hold you together so that you don’t break under the strain again. You won’t remember any of what happened; your memories were too shattered. You won’t remember me. But you’ll be able to create new memories—your_ **_own_ ** _memories._

_You’re your own person now… Shiro._

Turquoise eyes fluttered open.

* * *

 

A release of air sounded as petals uncoiled from each other, and almost instantly, the boy clad in yellow and blue fell forward like a puppet with its strings snapped. He slid from the lowered metal petal to the floor, balled on his side limply, eyes half-lidded and staring at nothing exactly. For how long he stayed where he was, the boy didn’t know—couldn’t tell. Everything felt fuzzy and blurry, like his very existence was buzzing in and out.

Where was he?

 _Who_ was he?

Slowly, feeling began to crawl into his gloved hands, allowing him to rigidly clench and open his fingers. The feeling slid through his forearms, as slow as honey—it almost felt merciful, like he was gradually being awoken from a terribly strong slumber. Recognition began to worm into his eyes, fluttering his lids a couple of times to adjust his eyesight better.

Sluggishly, the boy’s arm slipped from under him and positioned itself to better push himself up. It was hard—his body felt like it was in autopilot mode, and he was merely a soul living in a body made of metal. Just watching as this body moved on its own—the nameless boy felt content remaining in sleep as he was. His body on the other hand, took it upon itself to _survive._

Finally, two wobbly feet settled on the ground but the silver-haired kid stumbled when he tried to take a step. Okay, maybe _wait_ a moment before trying to move… Inhaling, the boy decided to lean against the- the lily pod? What was this? Whatever—his head was killing him. Where was he? A hand that didn’t feel like his own held him up from the pod as the other pressed against his forehead, and finally he took a moment to look around.

White.

White everywhere.

His breath hitched, and eyes screwed tightly closed— _wha- what?_ His heart thumped hard against his chest and ice crystallized in his blood, rushing hot red to his head and he almost fell over. _No, no—pull yourself together, get up- it’s fine, it’s-_

Turquoise opened again, and the white was gone, replaced by a dark and techy place. Confusion pulled at his eyebrows as he studied the room. An unconscious step forward prompted another stiff and shaky step and he stumbled quickly toward the opposite wall, nausea kicking him in the gut and punching his head before he could cringe at his terrible headache. A moment was taken to settle his stormy stomach and rush of feeling to his head, eyes shut tightly again as he took deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

_Okay, okay, let’s get the facts—where are you? I don’t know. Some...computer place? There are those weird pods everywhere. Five...Five of them. Okay, so you’re most likely in a post-apocalyptic era, oh god, I’m screwed—_

He shook his head.

_Okay, okay, now- now, who.. who are you?_

His eyes shot open at the realization that he didn’t- he didn’t know who he was… His breathing quickened suddenly- _oh god, he was an amnesiac- where were his parents?! Friends?! Did they know where he was?! Where—_

_“Riku… No… Riku’s Replica…”_

He froze. That voice—

R...Replica..?

_White walls, intricate designs carved into the pillars and stairs—_

It felt like a beast’s claw was crushing his heart so tight, he almost felt convinced he’d explode and die—

Replica?

_Electricity sent his hair raised, a pain ripping at his side—“I’m just a replica, a FAKE!”_

A… A fake..?

Emotion rushed him like a crash of a wave. The boy choked on a sob he hadn’t realized he was holding in, and he felt hot tracks down his face and a deep heat behind his eyes. His head shook side to side slowly, and his knees wobbled terribly before they bent and collapsed to the floor.

_He saw a bat wing-shaped sword pointed to his chest. There was so much pain. He was going to die an abomination._

A _replica?_

God, he wasn’t even _human-_ which meant- he had no family, no friends, no one to… no one probably even knows he’s...here…

There was a strength in his legs that pushed him up, mustered up by the gut wrenching disgust toward himself—what was he designed for? To replace someone? He was going to be _sick—_

He was running desperately through these unfamiliar hallways, blinded partly by large blobs of tears forming in his eyes and flying by, ignoring the way his right arm was starting to buzz with a strange numbness.

 _No—_ he’s not- he’s not going to let anyone use him to- _to—_ he didn’t know, but his stomach twisted painfully at the thought of being someone’s disgusting, unnatural puppet—

Another sob tore from his throat as he ran through two large doors and the sunlight just about burned his eyes. He didn’t stop though—wouldn’t allow himself to stop and actually _enjoy_ the heat on his cold skin, to shield his stinging eyes from the scathing light—

He wasn’t _natural_ , he had to get away from everything, from-wherever this was. He pulled the one of the two large gates back, not stopping to close it after himself before he ran into the forest. Low branches clipped his bare shoulders and empty bushes pulled at his thick pant legs, tripping him here and there but he didn’t stop—not until he saw-

A loose rope hanging from a high branch.

His heart caught in his throat, desperation and loathing clawing at his chest and marking himself raw.

It looked like a tire swing used to be attached to it, but it had snapped a long time ago. The tire was set to the side and it was torn in its side, bushes growing around it. Old. Taking a glove off, the nameless b— _replica_ reached out to the rope (it felt hard and stiff—definitely old) and tugged a few times.

Some sick part of him smiled and whispered _perfect_ and praised his brilliant _(stupid, horrific, sad, desperate, disgusting, freakish)_ mind at the idea, thinking more _now, no one will ever be afraid or disgusted—his purpose will be incomplete forever, and no one will have the pain of looking at him._

He began to climb the tree, branch by branch until he was high enough to untie the rope to make a noose with it, then tied it at a lower branch again. It was difficult with an arm he could barely feel at his side. Lowering himself closer to the ground, he pulled the rope around his head. He didn’t know how to make a noose “the right way”, but he hoped it was enough.

This was all impulse, impulse in a sad, weird, twisted way to help society so they didn’t have to deal with a freak- an abomination- a failed monstrosity of mad science. Sitting on the low branch, he felt himself tense at a distant crunch of leaves. Doubt flooded his brain, but he felt more logical than that. Fact driven- at least in this moment. This whole scenario was because he doesn’t know how to handle his existence, his feelings? No one would find him in all of this forest.

Who would care enough, anyway?

His mind felt...cluttered. Like a child took a red crayon and scribbled all over his mental walls. There _were_ no thoughts. Just a strong, overwhelming feeling craving death to his person. He was alone in an ocean of despair.

He’s been awake for—how long? An hour? Two, maybe? He was on the ground for a long time, maybe even more.

All he wanted was to die.

His existence revolted him, stabbing his stomach with sickness.

He curled on the branch, a hand clutching at his hair and a sob ripped from his throat, fresh tears falling out. He hated this, hated this, hated this, _hated this-_ he hated his existence, he hated whoever made him, he hated whoever he was based off, he hated whoever _woke him up._ He could be asleep, just asleep and drifting in a mental state of nothingness, not—not freaking preparing to kill himself.

For the love of light…

He...He should stop. There was no telling who knew or didn’t know of his existence, of what he was. There was a town not too far away, right? He saw it running, but… it scared him. Maybe he should stop anyway. Take a moment to br—

There was a crack.

Oh, no. _No._

Ice hot fear clutched his chest and muscles, tensing.

_No, no, wait-_

He had no time to yank the rope from around his shoulders before the branch snapped from under him, plunging him toward the forest ground—he choked on a scream before the rough cord snapped tight around his throat and he felt skin was ripped by the hard, curt strings sticking out by the edges. His breath was stolen from him—scalding desperation hit him, forcing his numb arms to claw weakly at his neck, trying frantically to pull it away. His feet were dangling _so close_ to the ground.

He couldn’t breathe- he couldn’t breathe, no, no, no—deep, choked wheezes were yanked from his throat, hot tears burning down his cheeks. Black spots danced across his vision.

_No- no, no, I take it back, please, let me try again, let me try- I want to live, please-_

**_I WANT TO LIVE!_ **

“HEY!”

A snap, and the pressure pulling him up was released and his knees hit the ground with a thud. A deep, strangled breath yanked him to the present as air filled his struggling lungs, and soon a myriad of retches and coughs fell from him. His hand pulled the loosened noose away from his neck and he tossed it away, scrambling away in fear before lowering onto his back, a weakness overtaking his limbs.

He kept choking on air in his frenzied attempt at breathing. His bare hand came back from his neck shaking—eyes widened at the sight of blood. _Oh frick, it cut me…_

Leaves crunching beside him only vaguely alerted him to someone’s presence. “Gosh! Are you alright?” came the squeaky voice, pulling turquoise eyes to meet with—a mouse.

_Crap, I died, didn’t I?_

The mouse’s eyes widened considerably, expression lined with a certain kind of fear and confusion the replica couldn’t quite place when he saw his face, but the lightheaded replica could only stare with heavy eyes as numbness engulfed his body. He couldn’t find it in him to care at the moment, however.

At least he could breathe.

At least he was alive—but he didn’t know how long that feeling of _living_ would remain. His emotions felt fleeting, shifting like the wind, and he supposed that must be why his body’s nerves began shutting down and tingling unpleasantly when he stopped thinking rationally, instead choosing to panic and letting his anxiety shoot through the roof and only worsened from there. Who… who cares anymore?

His tired eyes shifted away when the stranger muttered, “Riku?” softly, his chest aching at the word. So he… he knew who his original was? He guessed that’s what his name was but— _he_ wasn’t Riku. He was just this counterfeit knockoff. So useless he couldn’t even kill himself right.

His head lulled to the side, eyelids sinking down, becoming heavy and hard to fight.

This would have to wait, he thought as a foggy black clouded his mind and dipped him into an abyss of unconsciousness.

He wished he were dead again.

* * *

Dreams—

They came in fuzzy bubbles, floating around his vision and almost taunting him with how vague they looked to him.

He could only make out what looked like a beach in one bubble, a distant and muffled bout of children laughter echoing from it. His heart ached sadly at the three small, distorted forms running around—they looked like they were having fun. Tears fell like a faucet leak. He longed for that.

Another bubble drifted in his view, it’s image indecipherable and stark white. Voices were coming from it, desperate but cruel. He couldn’t understand them, but the aching in his chest worsened as more tears burst like a dam. A rushing river flooded down his face, and a pressure pushed through his throat—salty water erupted from his mouth and the replica choked, trying to breathe suddenly, but something was wrapped around his neck, tightening. A strangled cry tore from him, hands reaching to his neck to claw at it, but rope dug into his skin on both wrists, gripping it cold and suddenly he was being pulled every way, this and that—muffled laughter and electricity crackled in the air above him.

A puppet.

He was a puppet.

The rope snapped—and he fell into black.

Riku’s Replica woke up gasping.

* * *

The mouse was there when he woke up. Along with an old guy, a knight-looking dog, a duck and a red-haired man who looked way too painfully familiar for his heart to handle.

Confusion was in the air, but he knew they were trying their best to be polite as they asked questions.

 _Are you okay?_ I’m supposed to be dead, but I’m fine I guess.

 _What’s the last thing you remember?_ I woke up in a flower pod, then tried to kill myself as an impulse decision.

 _Do you remember who you are?_ Some guy named Riku’s replica. A fake. A cheap knockoff. A failed experiment.

 _Do you know who Riku is?_ No, but I guess I’m supposed to, aren’t I?

It went on for a while. Three of them left to give him space, he guessed? Maybe because he was shaking so hard, then the questions stopped. The old guy set down a teacup on the table next to his bed, calming explaining what he should know.

He is a replica created by someone called Vexen, but he was no longer who he was (like that makes sense), so his name is Even and he lives in someplace called Radiant Gardens.

The old guy’s name is Yen Sid and the mouse is King Mickey (what the frick, he’s a royal mouse??). The others who left are Donald (the duck), Goofy (the dog knight), and Lea (he scared him). The replica made some mental notes to keep them in mind, though he didn’t know what good it would be. He didn’t know how long he’d be staying for.

This place was Yen Sid’s tower, the Mysterious Tower, and Riku (original) was here with a boy named Sora (his heart seized in his chest, and he had to force down the hot tea to keep control and feeling in himself). The replica had a power—called a keyblade. Riku and this ‘Sora’ was in the middle of their mastery exam so they’ll be back soon enough (The replica felt there was more to it than that, but he didn’t say anything).

Yen Sid came up close to check his bandages over his throat. They weren’t as bad as before, Yen Sid noted before standing.

“Rest and finish your tea, young replica. We shall return later to speak once you’ve recovered more. Your change of clothes is at the foot of the bed there.” He left.

The mouse—Mickey? King Mickey?—nodded before turning to the replica, a sincere look on his face. The replica raised a brow, tiredness written all over his expression, but he was interested in what the rodent king had to say.

“We’ve gotta call you something, you know?” he said. “Have ya thought of anything yet?”

He blinked. That caught the replica off guard. “I- what?”

“You know! A name for yourself. Ya haven’t thought of anything?”

The silver-haired boy shook his head, dumbfounded. “I…” he swallowed. He didn’t really _want_ a new name. He wasn’t anything… he wasn’t human, wasn’t a person—he wasn’t _Riku_. He had nothing to his name- not that he had one anyway. Did he even deserve a name?

Mickey smiled with a nod before turning. “Just think about it.”

The boy watched him leave in silence.

* * *

The replica sat on the rather plain bed staring at the wall across from him. He didn’t get a wink of sleep, so he felt like a living zombie mentally, emotionally, physically. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw _white, white, white, white._ It made him shudder.

God, this room was tiny. They even fit a sink and mirror in the corner, what the heck?

The nameless boy was dressed in a navy blue vest over a black long sleeved shirt. His hands felt naked without anything tight against them. The vest has a long collar edge that could clip with buttons over his mouth if he chose to, but he left it floppy. At least his pants looked normal, being jean-like in appearance but a bit more baggy and “free.” (The replica is tired, okay?)

Nervously, his hands pecked at each other, pulling and rubbing at his skin. He eyed the mirror from his bed. He couldn’t see his reflection from his angle—it was on the same wall as his bed. Finally, he stood and stumbled toward the sink.

He didn’t know what to expect when he saw his reflection—no, it wasn’t his face either… but he had to wonder. His hand raised to touch at his skin. There were pale, almost white patches littering his skin—which he noticed were all over his body in varying sizes when he was changing—but he didn’t know what it was, or if it was on his face.

There was a large white spot over his right eye, vaguely making him think of a dog. He grimaced at the thought. There was white lining his left jawline and clawed around his cheek jaggedly. Parts of his lips were marked too. The nameless boy noticed strangely that his right eye was somewhat paler than his left too. It looked like snow, or vanilla… _(white white white white)_ Brows furrowed in confusion. What was this? Did his original look like this too?

A knock from the door drew him out from his thoughts, turning to see Mickey crack the door open. “Friend? Are ya alright?”

The boy’s brows scrunched tighter, even more mind-boggled and he tilted his head before swallowing and nodding anyway. The mouse smiled at that, though he didn’t appear to be sold on the answer. Regardless, the door was opened wider as the boy followed the king through the strange hallway.

“Say, didja think of a name yet, friend?”

The silver-haired boy blinked, reminded of his task. A name, huh? He stopped in front of two large wooden doors. He really hadn’t. This felt like something that should be taken into deep consideration, it could stick with him for life. Irreversible, in a sense.

Nervously, he pulled at his longer sleeves.

A name…

Something to call his own…

A voice echoed in his head, a voice soft as silk, drifting through his shattered memories with sadness and loneliness but loveliness all the same. His heart ached at the thought of the voice, so gentle and full of pain.

He swallowed and looked at the expectant mouse with a hollow smile and a nod.

“C-Call me… Call me Shiro.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter is up to my friend and co-writer: Kal! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, friends! Leave some kudos or comments if you enjoyed :) See you next time!


End file.
